


Dog-Eared Pages

by tadpole_san



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, Romance, but only at the very end - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tadpole_san/pseuds/tadpole_san
Summary: You get very particular about how one is supposed to read your comic books. Jason is just trying to understand why you'd read about superheroes when you can see them in real life. The rules are as follows:1. Don't fold the pages.2. Don't leave it lying face-down.3. Don't leave it on the kitchen counter (especially when working with a stove, oven, or dealing in any form of cooking).4. Don't leave stains of any kind. This will have a few exceptions.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Reader
Kudos: 21





	Dog-Eared Pages

“Don't do that.” The words are out of your mouth before you even realize, and you duck your head back down so you can act as though your gaze had never strayed from the screen in front of it. And then you look right back up, meet Jason’s stare from across the room, and follow through with a “please.” The word hangs in the air between the two of you. 

His finger is still poised over the page that is partially turned, corner midway to being folded down - presumably, to mark the spot he was on. The lamp on the coffee table casts a circle of honeyed light over the squared images, and if you squint, you can almost make sense of the blurred lines of dialogue from your spot on the couch across from him. 

Jason must notice, because you manage to catch the almost-cheeky smirk his lips pull into as he closes the comic and sets it aside in favor of leaning away from his chair so he can present you with the glasses that lay abandoned on the table that separates the two of you. When he finally responds to your earlier micro-outburst, it’s in a voice that barely masks the amusement which had been displayed over his features throughout his endeavor of reading through what was your comic in an attempt to hyper-analyze why it was you indulged in your hobby of superhero comics when you shared a living space with one. 

Your response to his acute observation had been to point out that technically, _technically_ , the Red Hood is a self-labeled antihero. 

“I can’t dog-ear the pages, babe?” 

“No, you can’t.” You watch as calloused fingers rub over the light creasing left behind just minutes ago, and you make an effort to not reach over and do the same. The page corner is restored within seconds, and with his self-appointed mission now fulfilled, Jason is sinking into the free spot on the couch next to you, letting you lean against his side. His arm goes over the back of the couch with such clichéd nonchalance that you elbow him for it, eliciting a muttered _oof_. 

“I can’t leave it on the kitchen counter,” he continues, and you immediately know that he’ll go on to list your apparent grievances of his manhandling towards the item you had loaned him. 

“You’ll get sauce on it,” is your immediate rebuttal, focus inherently shifted from the computer now set aside on the table to the comic Jason had been flipping through. He laughs as he turns to read it over your shoulder, chin pressing against the crown of your head. If anyone asks him, really, he didn’t actually _mind_ when his borrowed item had been confiscated during his attempt to read it over the stove as he cooked - discovering your hidden hobby of collecting superhero-dedicated comic book works in a world where they already existed had helped to make a shit week on the streets feel slightly less shit.

In the next few seconds, he sees you falter at the sight of splattered red stains marring the last few pages, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder so that you won’t turn and see how the crooked smirk on his face has dropped. 

A sigh. 

“You _can_ leave blood stains,” is what you end up saying, fingers tracing over the shapes left behind on now-wrinkled paper, “if it means you’ve made it back home.” Jason hums, a hand going to your waist so he can pull you just a little bit closer. 

“Next time I’m borrowing one of these, you should put in a list of rules with it.” He finally lifts his head again so you can see the shit-eating grin he’s sporting. “You’re kind of a godzilla about this, sweets.” 

“ _Jason_!”


End file.
